


Fix it With a Pumpkin Patch

by ellevaire



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Violence, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellevaire/pseuds/ellevaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three or four pumpkins go tumbling, and Steve, whose arms are full of pumpkin and groceries, can't do shit. Time slows down. Steve would swear he watches in slow motion as one rolls off the pile--not the biggest, but not one of the baby pumpkins, probably a mid-size ten pounder, at least--and hits the guy with the henley square in the face. </p><p>Or, "I'm sorry I accidentally hit you in the face and broke your nose" meet-cute where Steve is (unintentionally) a big old Jerk-O-Lantern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix it With a Pumpkin Patch

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not the fic I intended to write but if I wrote what I were meant to who knows where I'd be right now. Warnings for some blood--nothing worse than a broken nose, but if that's not your thing I'd skip this one.

The air is cool and crisp when Steve leaves his apartment, it’s a perfect day to be out and about, and there’s a little more bounce than usual in his step as he makes his way to the farmers’ market. Everyone at the market has their fall wares out--apple pies, ciders, and jellies, sunflowers, all manner of pumpkin-themed items--and Steve has to rein himself in and resist the temptation to buy, well, all of it. Instead, he sticks to his list: fresh pasta, apple butter, pierogies, stuffed cabbage for Mrs. Carter downstairs, and whatever veggies he has room for in his bag.

He’s just inspecting the pumpkins (it was unanimously voted by the olds in his building that he, the youngest and strongest, should get the pumpkin for the front stoop) when he notices the other guy at the cart. His hair is long, tied up in a little nub and his face is stubbly but neatly trimmed, highlighting a well-sculpted jaw. Overall, it’s a face Steve could stand to look at for a significant amount of time. His eyes are blue-gray, the same color as his henley. The left sleeve is rolled up to where the guy’s arm ends just under his bicep, and Steve looks away quickly, hoping that if he noticed Steve staring he picked up an I’m-Definitely-Checking-You-Out vibe and not an I’m-Staring-At-Your-Lack-Of-Arm vibe.

He goes back to examining the pumpkins, finally deciding on one that should suitably impress the olds. It’s pretty big, but since Steve hit his growth spurt in his late teens, well. He’s pretty big, too.

Steve would like to go on record and say that what happens next was a freak accident that was absolutely not his fault.

The pumpkin he wants is on the bottom, because it’s kind of huge. He’s absolutely certain that it’s not a keystone of the pumpkin pyramid, but he pulls it off the cart and everything goes tits up. Three or four pumpkins go tumbling, and Steve, whose arms are full of groceries, can't do shit. Time slows down. He can’t get rid of his groceries fast enough and it also might cause more harm than good to shove a complete stranger out of the way. He would swear he watches in slow motion as one rolls off the pile--not the biggest, but not one of the baby pumpkins, probably a mid-size ten pounder, at least--and hits the guy with the henley square in the face. 

Steve sets down his bags (carefully, so as not to cause more chaos) and catches the guy as he sort of slumps to the ground. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Steve is going to have to find a way to become a mermaid and live at the bottom of the Hudson so he never embarrasses himself again. Please, God, no. He’s pretty sure nothing can live in the Hudson. He’d die for sure, because he has the immune system of something with a really fucking terrible immune system.

Steve realizes he still has a death grip on Henley Man and forces his fingers to relax. His eyes flutter open and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. It’s only been a few seconds, so he can’t be too badly injured, right?

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry,” Steve says.

“Oh, Christ, I’m dead, aren’t I?” Henley Man says, putting his hand up to his nose, which is now bleeding profusely.

“What?” Steve asks stupidly.

“I’m dead, right? Hot guys like you don’t happen to people like me.”

“Uhhh,” Steve says. Good job, Steve. That would probably be eloquent, if he were a two-year-old. Come on, Rogers, get your wits about you. “Do you remember your name?”

“It’s Bucky,” Henley Man says.

“Okay, Bucky, can you tell if you’re injured?”

“I’m alright,” Bucky says, sitting up slowly, which is awkward, because he’s still kind of in Steve’s arms. Steve hastily retracts his grip. “I lost the arm before you tried to kill me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh my god,” Steve says, just as the owner of the cart comes around and starts yelling at Steve for fucking up his display. “Look. I will pay for your fucking pumpkins, but this man’s head is bleeding and it’s a little more pressing at the moment. Can someone bring me some water, please?”

“My head is bleeding?” Bucky asks, touching his forehead. His finger comes away shiny with blood. “Okay, fucking ouch.”

“Lean forward and pinch your nose for me, that’s bleeding, too,” Steve says.

“We couldn’t find water, here’s some cider and paper towels,” says the cart owner, who has apparently decided that Steve is enough of an asshole to actually be from Brooklyn, and hates him less for it.

“Thanks,” Steve says. He holds the towels to Bucky’s nose while Bucky takes the cup and drinks in slow sips but remains seated on the ground. He finishes the cup and crushes it in his hand, and takes the paper towels from Steve.

“Okay, buddy, thanks for nearly killing me, but I should probably get going.” Bucky stands, swaying precariously.

“Can I walk you home at least? Or help with that?” Steve points to Bucky’s forehead, which is still bleeding. His nosebleed has already stained the paper towels.

Bucky sways again.

“Okay, how far away do you live?” Steve asks, gathering his groceries and handing the cart guy money for the pumpkin and a little extra for his trouble.

Bucky thinks for a moment.

“Seven blocks?”

“I know you probably want me out of your hair right now, but I’m four blocks closer, I have a first aid kit that could get us through the apocalypse, and I’m afraid you have a concussion. Do you have someone at home who can wake you up every couple of hours?”

Bucky blinks heavily. “No,” he says finally. “My roommate is in LA and I’m kind of out of friends after that.”

“I can just take you to the hospital, then, if that’s easier. You should probably really go to the hospital.”

Bucky gets a panicked look. “No. No hospitals. Please don’t make me go.”

“Okay, it’s okay, no hospitals. Would you come back to my place and let me help you?”

“You gonna tell me your name before you take me home?”

“Uh, Steve? I’d say nice to meet you, but.”

“Well, Uh Steve, let’s go patch me up.”

They make their way back to Steve’s apartment slowly. Bucky holds a fresh paper towel to his nose while Steve keeps an arm around his waist. They probably look a sight, Steve with his groceries and Bucky with his--bleeding.

Steve sets his pumpkin on the stoop when they reach the apartments and finagles the lock open while Bucky leans against the side of the building.

“What floor are you on?”

“Third. Sorry,” Steve says, finally getting the door unlocked.

“You’re killing me, Stevie,” Bucky says.

“Hey, I can leave you at the mercy of the old people here,” Steve says, helping Bucky through the door and relocking it.

“On second thought…”

Steve keeps an arm around Bucky’s waist the whole way up the stairs (“Such a gentleman,” Bucky mutters). He herds Bucky straight to the bathroom, pulling out the first aid kit his mom gave him when he first moved out of her apartment.

“Is this the part where you kill me? Because I have to tell you, I’m pretty broke right now.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Wowie, buddy, you got some bad luck I gotta worry about?” Bucky says, staring at the first aid kit.

“My mom is a nurse and uh, I used to get in a lot of fights,” Steve says, pulling out alcohol wipes and gloves. “This is gonna burn a little.”

“I’ve lost an arm. I think I’ll live.”

Steve gently cleans the blood off Bucky’s forehead and inspects the cut. It’s actually not as bad as he initially thought. Finally, something going right. He closes it with a butterfly bandage and moves on to Bucky’s (probably usually very nicely shaped) nose.

“Well, the cut on your forehead is small, so that’s good. Is your nose still bleeding?”

“I think it’s broken,” Bucky says, wincing.

“I can ask my mom to come over and set it,” Steve says as Bucky stands.

“Can you do it?”

“I mean yeah, I’ve broken my nose at least four times,” Steve says.

“Then do it,” Bucky says, sitting back down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure, do it before I lose my nerve.”

“Okay,” Steve says, placing his thumbs on either side of Bucky’s nose. “On three.” He shifts Bucky’s nose back into place on two.

“MOTHERFUCKING SHIT.”

“Sorry.”

“Good to know that still sucks.”

Bucky’s eyes are leaking tears. Steve winces.

“Sorry. Here are some nose tampons. Let me get the rest of the blood.”

Despite his obvious pain, Bucky laughs.

“Nose tampons, that’s a new one.”

“I’m not going to make you stay, but you really should have someone wake you up every couple hours. And you should ice your face. I mean, I’ll give you ice. Or you could take it with you. The least I can do is give you ice for the road.”

“Don’t get yourself too worked up, I’ll stay a minute.”

Steve finds Bucky a new t-shirt, one that doesn’t have droplets of blood patterning the front and a pair of sweatpants that should fit his muscular thighs even if they’re a little long.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, pulling off the dirtied henley and balling it up so the blood is on the inside. Steve tries not to stare as Bucky gets the clean shirt turned around. His left side is a mess of scar tissue but his chest and abs are...Steve’s mouth goes dry and a flush heats his face.

“Uh...here’s some Tylenol. I’m gonna go get some ice and let you finish getting changed.”

Steve hears Bucky leave the bathroom a minute later and wedges his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“Mom, I almost killed him, I hit him in the face with a pumpkin and I think he’s concussed and he probably thinks I’m trying to hold him prisoner,” Steve says, making an effort to quiet his voice. He hears Bucky drop onto the couch.

“What? No, of course I didn’t do it on purpose.” Steve roots around in his freezer for a bag of peas and a dish towel to wrap them in as his mom reminds him that he knows how to take care of concussions, “because you’ve had enough of them yourself,” thanks, mom.

Steve hangs up and pours a glass of water, then sets the kettle on the stove to boil. He can hear snippets of conversation coming from the other room--it sounds like Bucky is in the living room, presumably on the phone. If not, they have more problems than Steve initially thought.

“--been kidnapped, but I agreed to it, and my nose is broken.”

Pause.

“Because he’s hot, Natasha, and he’s really fucking nice for someone who tried to kill me with a pumpkin.”

Steve isn’t sure, but he thinks he can hear laughter on the other end of the line.

“Yes, I’ll call you if I need rescued, even though I know for a fact you are in Los Angeles.”

Another pause.

“I don’t doubt that you have your ways. Don’t say shit like that, it’s fucking scary to normal people. Bye.”

Steve pours out the mug of tea and juggles the peas, the water, and the tea, setting everything on the coffee table in the living room. Bucky is looking tired and a little dazed, but still passably alert, and has made himself at home on Steve’s huge L-shaped sectional.

“Girlfriend?” Steve asks.

“Ex-girlfriend, current roommate, all-around nightmare of a best friend,” Bucky says.

“Here are some peas, for your face, which I broke, and I’m still very sorry about that,” Steve says, handing the bag over. “And I brought you some water because it seemed like a good idea. And I also brought you some tea, because I don’t know. And I’m also sorry for kidnapping you. It was kind of a dick move, and I know that.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, reaching for the water. He takes a sip and then trades it for the peas, pressing the bag gingerly to his face. He tips back, letting gravity hold the bag in place. “I mean, there are worse people to be kidnapped by, but if you try anything funny, she--Natasha--will know, and she will murder you in broad daylight and get away with it.”

“Um, right. That wasn’t on my agenda, really.”

They sit in silence which isn’t as awkward as it should be, considering Bucky just threatened his life.

“Do you mind if I put Netflix on? I won’t do it loudly or anything, obviously.”

“Your house, man. Go for it.”

Steve puts on Jiro Dreams of Sushi and kicks his feet up. Next to him, Bucky relaxes into the couch. It’s not the ideal situation, but having someone else in the apartment is--it’s nice.

Bucky falls asleep about ten minutes into the film. Steve plucks the bag of peas off of his face half an hour later and puts it back in the freezer, but covers him with the blanket from the back of the couch and pulls the blinds to deaden the late afternoon sunlight. Steve lets him sleep until the movie is over, waking Bucky with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Buck, buddy, you have to wake up.”

“Why do I feel like I got hit like a truck?”

“A gourd to the face will do that to you, I imagine,” Steve says. “Um. I ordered pizza, if you’re hungry.”

“Sure, I’ll split a pizza. My wallet is in my pants over...somewhere.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I at least owe you pizza after everything I’ve put you through.”

“Okay, I’m just going to...get some sleep until then.”

“Nuh-uh. Put this on your face again, you’ll thank me later.” Steve grabs the bag of peas from the freezer. “What do you feel like watching?” He scrolls through the Netflix menu.

“Anything but Chopped,” Bucky says, leaning back again. “Shit’s way too intense.”

“How do you feel about The X-Files?” Steve asks, but Bucky has already fallen asleep again.

The pizza arrives halfway through the episode about the guy who lives in a bile cave, and luckily Bucky isn’t awake to see Steve nearly jump out of his own skin.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says, giving him a little push. “Time to get up again, pizza’s here.”

“Is this the episode with the bile guy?”

“Yeah. Here,” Steve says, handing Bucky a slice of pizza. “And there’s a better pillow for you.”

“Thanks. That’s the freakiest shit,” Bucky says through a mouthful of cheese.

He falls asleep again midway through his second slice. Steve gently plucks the crust out of his hand and sets it on Bucky’s plate, then tidies up the cups on the table and puts away the leftovers. Bucky must have woken up briefly, because he’s now lying down on the couch, wrapped in Steve’s blanket. It looks comfortable.

Steve grabs an afghan from his room and relaxes into the other side of the couch, yawning, and sets an alarm for an hour and a half.

“Steve,” Bucky says, an hour and a half later, when Steve’s alarm goes off, “Steve. Stevie. Your alarm makes me want to murder someone. It sounds like butterflies and I hate it.”

They fall into a pattern: Bucky wakes up and tosses a few choice profanities at Steve and Steve’s phone, Steve resets his alarm, and they both fall back asleep. This continues until around ten, long past when Steve normally wakes up. His mouth tastes disgusting, and he brushes his teeth and leaves an extra toothbrush out for Bucky before starting on breakfast.

Bucky wakes up while Steve is frying up turkey sausages. His nose looks about ten times worse than it did the day before, but his eyes are clearer and more focused.

“There’s a toothbrush and towels for you in the bathroom if you want them,” Steve says. Bucky nods and shuffles off.

Steve hears the shower start a moment later and decidedly Does Not Think about Bucky naked, in his apartment. It’s not that Steve’s desperate, it’s just that Bucky is the first guy he’s had in his apartment (barring Sam, but Sam and Riley are very happily married. Very.) in eighteen or so months. Steve already knows that Bucky is nice, quick-witted, and patient with guys who hit him in the face with pumpkins. He blushes for absolutely no reason, and distracts himself by grabbing Bucky a fresh shirt.

“Hey, Buck? I grabbed you a clean shirt, I’m going to hang it on the knob outside the bathroom door.”

Steve is pretty sure he hears Bucky singing over the sounds of the shower, and tries to forget he’s probably never going to see him again.

Bucky reappears ten minutes later and makes Steve’s Led Zeppelin t-shirt look better than Steve ever could.

“Coffee?” Steve asks.

“Black, please,” Bucky says, accepting the mug Steve offers. “You really are a gentleman,” he says, looking at the plate of pancakes Steve has been keeping warm in the oven.

“I can’t let you think I might still be trying to kill you, so, uh, sourdough pancakes. If you have time. I totally understand if you’ve got places to be.”

“I’m a free man, Stevie.” Bucky says, shrugging. “Ain’t got no one to answer to now that I’m discharged.”

“Army?” Steve says, flipping a stack of pancakes onto a plate and handing it to Bucky.

“Special Ops, actually. Didn’t know what to do after high school, joined the military, blah blah blah, got captured and lost an arm for my trouble, got rescued and got out a few months ago, and now I’m here.”

“Wow,” Steve says dumbly. “Uh, I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Me too. How about you? What do you do?”

“I’m in graphic design, and I’ve been working on getting my illustrating skills up to snuff. I wanted to join the army when I was young--my dad was, died in fucking Desert Storm, story for another day, perhaps--but I was never healthy enough.” Bucky gives him a disbelieving look.

“I know, right? But I was born with a hole in my heart, and the army doesn’t want guys who are partially deaf, and like, legally blind.” Steve tries not to let the bitterness creep into his voice. He’s over it. Really. “So I had to follow other interests.”

“Wow. And I thought my life sucks.”

“Shut up and eat your pancakes.”

“I don’t take orders anymore,” Bucky says, soaking his pancakes in blueberry syrup. “I don’t mind giving them, though.”

He winks. He fucking winks. Steve blushes and cuts into his own stack.

Bucky insists on helping Steve clean up before he leaves, which pretty much amounts to watching him put dishes in the dishwasher and making fun of his quirky mug collection.

Steve wishes he could reasonably ask Bucky to spend more time together, but realizes that at this point Bucky probably just wants to go. He doesn’t offer to take Bucky home and Bucky doesn’t ask.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says after he’s walked Bucky to the door. “About the--” he gestures at Bucky’s swollen, blackened nose. “Hopefully you don’t think too lowly of me.”

“Well, there is one more thing you could do for me,” Bucky says, drawing the sentence out.

“And what would that be?” Steve’s heart races through his chest.

“Go on a date with me? Coffee on Tuesday, maybe?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr.--?”

“Barnes,” Bucky says, looking up through stupidly long, dark eyelashes.

“Mr. Barnes. I think I can manage that.”

“Good,” Bucky says, kissing him on the cheek. “Because I left my number on your whiteboard.”

**  
**  


“Steven, what a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Carter says when Steve pops down for his weekly visit and stuffed cabbage delivery. “Please, sit, I just made sugar cookies and I need a test subject.”

“I’m sure they’re perfect, Mrs. Carter,” Steve says, sitting at the table and reaching down to pet Peanut, Mrs. Carter’s cat.

She sets a plate of cookies on the table and pours them both strong cups of coffee from the little coffee maker on the stove before sitting. She gestures at Steve to take a cookie and waits until he is well and truly cornered with a mouthful of cookie before looking him straight in the eye, and that’s when Steve knows it’s going to be bad.

“So, I’ve seen that hot brunet leaving our building at ungodly hours a lot lately, am I to assume you’ve finally been getting some ass?”

Steve sprays crumbs everywhere and blushes from his hairline to his toes.

“Honestly, Steven, don’t be an animal. How did you two meet and why haven’t we been introduced yet?”

Steve stutters out the story, blushing the entire time. Mrs. Carter cackles, and then forces him to repeat the story to the other elderly couple that lives in the building, and they all howl with laughter.

He complains to Bucky later, when they’re in Steve’s bed, watching The X-Files (they’ve made it to season three over the course of two months, but going is slow when you have a shiny new boyfriend to kiss all the time. Who knew.)

“Stevie. Baby. You expect me to be sympathetic? You’ve been holding out on me, I want cookies.”

“You’ve met my mom, I haven’t been holding out on that much.”

“Yeah, but. Cookies.”

“I’ll bake you cookies,” Steve says, rolling over and hugging Bucky around the waist.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll bake you all the cookies. Chocolate, peanut butter, pumpkin…”

Bucky shakes with laughter.

“Not the pumpkin, please. I’m still traumatized.”

“You’re an ass,” Steve says fondly into Bucky’s hip.

“But you love me,” Bucky says, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“But I love you,” Steve agrees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I think I've caught all grammatical errors now. There were more than one, which is embarrassing, so sorry about that!


End file.
